


Moments

by veronamay



Category: due South
Genre: Fanzine Submission, Future Fic, Memories, Multi, Old Age, POV Female Character, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-06
Updated: 2005-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-30 13:58:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronamay/pseuds/veronamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forty years down the track, Thatcher finally understands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moments

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Enduring Distance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/246881) by [Speranza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Speranza/pseuds/Speranza). 



> This story was originally submitted to Sidekicks Press in 2003 for their inaugural self-titled multifandom zine, [Sidekicks](http://www.lionheartdistribution.com/multimedia.htm#sidekicks).
> 
> I honestly can't remember who beta'd this for me. It was probably [](http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com/profile)[**lydia_petze**](http://lydia-petze.livejournal.com/) , but if I'm forgetting someone, please let me know so I can credit you.
> 
> **ETA:** In re-reading this, I realise I've unconsciously referenced the storyline of [](http://cesperanza.livejournal.com/profile)[**cesperanza**](http://cesperanza.livejournal.com/)'s amazing story "Enduring Distance". My apologies to her.

"... and closer to home, the RCMP is today mourning the loss of one of its longest-serving officers, Sergeant Benton Fraser, who died early this morning, aged 78."

I forgot what I was saying and stared at the television. "Turn that up," I snapped. Peter was lounging on the floor, too close to the set; he scrambled to his knees to obey. The room fell quiet as I squinted at the newsreader, but I didn’t notice.

"Fraser, who is one of the most famous people in RCMP history, passed away quietly in his home near Inuvik shortly after midnight. He is survived by his sister, and his partner of over forty years."

‘Most famous members’. He’d hate that. Then the words sank in. I stared blankly at the screen as the picture changed to a soft drink commercial. Fraser was dead. I drew in a shuddering breath.

"Grandma?" Peter came over and put a hand on my arm. "Are you okay?" His face was worried as he looked at me. I shook my head slightly to clear it and focused on him, realising that everyone else was staring too.

"I'm okay," I said briskly, dashing a hand over my eyes. "I just wanted to hear that news report."

Tamara frowned at me. "About Sergeant Fraser?" she asked. "Why?"

I closed my mouth on a sharp reply and took a moment to calm myself. They didn’t know, after all. Fraser was nothing to them, but to me ... well, there was a time I thought he could have been quite a lot.

"I knew him, that’s why," I said at last, my voice painfully steady. "I was his superior officer."

There was another silence as they digested this. Tamara's eyes widened dramatically and her mouth dropped open - not an attractive look, I noted absently. "You were a Mountie?" she asked. I smiled, despite the pain and – yes, the embarrassment – that was still associated with those years of my life, and nodded.

"For about ten years, before I joined the Service," I said, meaning the Canadian equivalent of the CIA. "I was posted to the Canadian Consulate in Chicago. That's where I met Fraser."

"Wait a minute," Tamara said, her eyes narrowing. "I've heard about this guy - isn't he the one who's been causing trouble for land developers and miners up in the Territories for the past few years?" I nodded, my smile growing wry at the thought of Fraser doing just that. "That Fraser?" Tamara demanded. "You were his CO?"

"Yes," I admitted. "He was transferred to Chicago shortly after his father was killed."

Tamara held up a hand. "No, wait, don't tell me," she said warily. "Sergeant Bob Fraser, right? The one who was implicated in that dam scheme back in the early '90s?"

"Mm-hm," I said. "Fraser first came to Chicago on the trail of his father's killers, and remained there for several years after that, for ... various reasons." I’d once thought I was one of those reasons. Remembered embarrassment warmed my cheeks.

Tamara waved a hand. "Wait, wait, wait," she said hastily. "Back up a bit - his father's killers?" A certain tone entered her voice, her 'professional' tone. "Start at the beginning, Mum."

I looked around at my family, gathered here to celebrate my birthday. I saw myself in Tamara's upright bearing and focused expression; she was a lot like I had been at the same point in my career with the RCMP – sharp, focused, but somewhat more sensitive to nuance than I had been. She deserved to know about the man who could possibly have been her father.

I closed my eyes to remember, then began to speak.

2.00 PM

"... so he asks me, 'Can you throw?' and I tell him my average," I gasped, trying to hold back the laughter, "and he gives me an egg and tells me to aim at the red button." I shook my head, still smiling. "He always knew how to think outside the square." No matter how often it had annoyed me.

By now I felt like Mother Goose; both Tamara and Peter were sitting on the floor at my feet, and David was perched on the edge of the coffee table with little Amy in his arms. "He sounds like a real character," David said, his eyes bright with curiosity. He slanted a knowing glance at me. "You liked him a lot, huh?"

I smiled softly. "Yes," I replied, able to admit it at last. Forty years too late. "I liked him very much."

"How much is 'very much'?" David pushed, grinning at me. "Did you and he ever ... you know ..." and he raised an eyebrow at me. I tried to stare him down.

"I don't think that's any of your business," I said tartly, and he laughed.

"That means yes," he said gleefully. "Come on, spill. I want details."

I tried to stop the blush that swept over my face, but it gave me away. "There's nothing to tell," I said dismissively. "We had a couple of ... moments, but the timing was never right to take it further. It would've been too awkward for both of us. It's better that things worked out the way they did."

Moments. Looking back, that's all they really were: a kiss on top of a speeding train; another on a boat on a clear blue ocean; a third near a campfire in the middle of the Arctic Circle. It was a series of romanticised glimpses of what could have been, had he been less of a gentleman and I less self-conscious, less superior, less afraid. In the end, those moments hadn't been enough, and I supposed I was glad of that. I couldn't help feeling a pang of loss for what might have been, however. Fraser had been a very special man.

"So how did it all work out?" David asked. "You got married, obviously, since we're all here ..." He gestured around. "What happened to Fraser?"

There was a loaded question. It would be easier to explain what hadn't happened to Fraser; the man seemed to attract trouble wherever he went. That made me smile again, despite the clear memory of all the aggravation he'd caused me while under my command. "The short version's simple: he went on an Arctic expedition for two years, returned to Chicago for another six years, then he went back to the Territories and stayed there, causing trouble for developers and miners and people wanting to drill for oil." I knew even as I spoke that wouldn't be enough of an explanation.

"What's the long version?" Tamara wanted to know, right on cue. I settled back in my chair and smiled at her.

"Get me another cup of tea, and I'll tell you," I said.

3.30 PM

"A submarine," Tamara said in disbelief. I wondered if her eyebrows were actually going to disappear into her hairline. "An actual Russian submarine?"

"Yes," I confirmed. "And let me tell you, that was not easy to sort out afterwards."

"I don't even want to imagine," Tamara said, shuddering at the thought of all the red tape. "And it was Muldoon who murdered Fraser's mother?"

I nodded. "It was a huge shock to him." Just how much of a shock, I hadn't discovered until later; at the time, I'd been too worried about sorting out the international repercussions of the case to think about Fraser's emotional state. "He had a sort of breakdown, I think."

"You think?" David asked. "You don't know?"

I flushed again, with embarrassment this time. "No, not exactly," I confessed. "I was occupied with the Service for several days at the conclusion of that case, and I didn't see Fraser at all. By the time I found out what was happening with him, he was already making plans to go north." I shrugged. "I didn't want to interfere. And besides, he had friends to take care of him - much better care than I would've been able to provide."

I thought of 'the Rays', as I'd come to refer to them, and blessed them for the thousandth time. They'd been better friends to Fraser than I could ever be. And of course, Ray Kowalski had ended up being so much more than just his friend that I really couldn't imagine it being any other way.

"They said he'd been survived by his sister and his 'partner'," Tamara said slowly. Her gaze was clear and sharp; I got an inkling of how my subordinates must have felt when I'd reprimanded them in the past. "Was he married?"

"No," I replied calmly, meeting her gaze. "His partner was Ray Kowalski, the detective he worked with during his last years in Chicago."

Tamara nodded, still looking at me. "I see," she said. "Is that why ...?"

"In part," I replied, sighing. "And in part, it was as I said before: the timing was never right. I don’t think it ever would have been."

She looked away for a moment, thinking. “Do you have a photo?” she asked suddenly. “Of Fraser?”

I thought for a moment. “The blue album. In my bedroom, in the top of the closet. I think there’s one in there.” If I remembered correctly, it was one of Fraser and Ray Kowalski, taken at the 27th District Christmas party the year before he left for the Territories. The Warfield case - the year I’d given him that damned sword, which didn’t bear remembering. What on earth had I been thinking?

Tamara went into the bedroom, and returned bearing the faded blue album. “Show me,” she said, giving it to me. “I’ve heard about this guy all my life, you know, and I always wondered what kind of person he was.”

“Curiosity is good for you,” I said loftily. “You’re a police officer; why didn’t you look him up?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it just seemed too - impersonal. You know what personnel files are like - you never get the full story.”

I did indeed know. And considering some of the things in Fraser’s file would have been put there by me, it was probably just as well Tamara hadn’t gone looking. I hadn’t been very complimentary towards him in the earlier stages of our relationship.

I flicked through the pages of the album, smiling now and then at pictures of my family at various ages, passing one finger wistfully over Ren’s face as I paused on one of our wedding photos.

Finally I turned to one of the last pages, and came to a stop. The photo I was looking for was there, still bright despite its age. The red of Fraser’s uniform was almost too bright; I had to look away and blink to clear my eyes.

“Oh, wow,” Tamara breathed, her eyes wide. “That’s Fraser?”

“And Ray Kowalski,” I said with a nod. Kowalski’s face looked up at me, defiantly cheeky. Fraser was more dignified, wearing his cuts and bruises from Warfield’s battering as if they didn’t matter. They hadn’t, to him; he’d been out to prove a point and he’d done it. Physical discomfort was always a lesser concern to Fraser.

“Oh, wow,” Tamara said again. She seemed unable to take her eyes off the photo. “I don’t know which one to look at.” She glanced up at me for a second. “How the hell did you keep your head around that for three years?”

I had to laugh. “It wasn’t easy,” I told her wryly. “I made a fool of myself more times than I care to remember. He was always a perfect gentleman, though.” Damn it. I let out another chuckle at that thought, and felt my spirits lighten. If Fraser had been just a bit less polite, things might have been quite different. But then, if he’d been less a gentleman, he wouldn’t have been Fraser. It was a comedy of romantic errors, as always with us.

Tamara finally sat back, though her gaze kept wandering to the photo. “I think I would’ve ended up hating him,” she said thoughtfully. “If I’d been in your place, that is. Especially once he met this guy.” She tapped Ray’s figure with a carefully manicured fingernail.

I lost my smile as I recalled the way I’d treated Ray Kowalski. We’d never really gotten along; he was just too off-the-wall for me, and it was obvious that I rubbed him the wrong way. Fraser had often been caught in the middle, which must have put a lot of pressure on him as he tried to please us both.

“I wasn’t exactly nice to him,” I admitted. “He was just too … irritating. I couldn’t understand why at the time.” I’d later realised that I was reacting to him based on our mutual attraction to Fraser; even if I had entertained serious hope for us, Ray’s presence in his life was a direct threat. It was very clear in the twenty-twenty vision of hindsight. I sighed. “I wish I’d treated him better - or at least apologised for my behaviour. We really had more in common than I thought.” We’d had Fraser, for a start.

David looked at me. “What’s stopping you?” he asked quietly, jiggling Amy on his lap. “You know how to contact him, don’t you?”

I frowned. “Yes.” Fraser had given me their phone number when they finally settled in the Territories, and I’d called him a handful of times over the years. The last time had been when Amy was born. He’d sent a hand-carved rattle as a christening present; it was currently residing in her mouth, marred with tooth-marks and baby spit.

“So, call him,” David suggested. “No time like the present.” He gave my knee a gentle nudge. “He could probably appreciate hearing from a friend right now.”

I grimaced. “I don’t know,” I hedged. “I wasn’t exactly his favourite person either, you know.” That had to be the understatement of the year; I knew that Ray had considered me a competitor for Fraser’s attention, both professionally and personally. I couldn’t imagine us being anything as stable as friends.

Still … David had a point. Ray might prefer to hear from someone who’d known Fraser, instead of the dozens of calls he’d be getting from reporters and RCMP brass and God knew who else. And if not, well, the worst he could do was hang up on me. Wouldn’t be the first time.

“Okay,” I said at last. Tamara brought the cordless phone over to me, and returned her gaze curiously to the photo as I dialled.

“Hello?”

Ray’s voice was harsh with grief. I almost hung up; the thought of opening up to that voice was almost too much. But then I thought back to Ren’s death, and Ray’s low-key empathy at the funeral.

“Hi, Ray,” I said unsteadily, closing my eyes. “It’s Meg.”

4.30 PM

“You’re booked on the ten o’clock flight to Yellowknife tomorrow morning,” David told me, hanging up the phone. “Air Canada.” He winked at me.

“The only way to fly,” I said, smiling despite myself. My voice was still a bit hoarse, but at least I’d stopped crying. “Thanks, Dave.”

“No charge,” he told me, coming over for a hug. I held him tightly, thanking God for my family. For all the love they’d had, Ray and Fraser had never felt this joy. I wondered if they missed it, then decided I would ask Ray tomorrow. Maybe he’d like to come for a visit.

“Are you going to be okay?” Tamara asked, coming over for her hug as well. “I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said firmly. “Go on home; the kids are done in.” Peter was drooping on the sofa, and Amy had gone down for the count half an hour ago. “You can drive me to the airport tomorrow.”

Tamara smiled. “Okay,” she agreed. She passed a gentle hand over my hair. “Get some rest, Mum. You look tired.”

I smiled and nodded and shooed them out the door, promising to get to bed early. Then, when they were gone, I went back to the sofa and sat down with the picture of Fraser and Ray in my lap. They smiled up at me, young and handsome and on the verge of falling in love. I gazed at Fraser and felt a few leftover tears creep down my cheeks.

“I’m sorry, Benton,” I whispered. “I could have loved you.”

I closed my eyes and leaned back against the sofa, feeling the aches and pains of old age disappear for just a moment. I was back on top of that train, on the deck of that magnificent ship, feeling the crisp cold air of the Territories … and for just a moment, I felt his hand in my hair.

END


End file.
